


Perfect Ten

by lirin



Category: Oxford Time Travel Universe - Connie Willis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 12:30:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13054041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lirin/pseuds/lirin
Summary: Kivrin's service on the scoring committee was supposed to be a sinecure. But then she was drawn in despite herself.





	Perfect Ten

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elasmo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elasmo/gifts).



> With many thanks to my awesome beta, drayton!

It seemed as if half the city was here, cheering. As the cathedral builders appeared on the dome, the noise escalated to a roar.

"You see that, my son?" One of the watchers said, speaking loudly to be heard over the crowd. He wore a blue coat, which appeared to have been freshly pressed for the occasion. "Today, almost forty years after the old cathedral burnt in the Great Fire, this new cathedral is finally complete. When you have children, and they have children, they will see this cathedral, and you can tell them that you were here on the day it was finished."

"It's going to stand forever!" a woman nearby exclaimed.

"Miss Katherine!" A black servant standing near them called to his mistress. "This way, Miss Katherine."

His mistress was slim and small, undeniably a woman but not much taller than a child. Her hair was as pale as the servant she followed was dark. The man in blue watched her hurry away over the cobbles. Her burgundy gown brushed becomingly along her figure. It was fashionable but not dear; though it appeared well made, he thought he had more lace on his cuffs than her dress had in its entirety. He wondered what business she had at the cathedral.

"Father! What are they going to do now?"

The woman and her servant fell from his thoughts as he turned back to his son. "Let's watch and see! I think they're going to nail a tree to the top of the dome."

 

_Two months earlier (and three hundred fifty-one years later)..._

"...And you'll need to fill out all of these as well. If you care about getting paid, that is."

Kivrin sighed and added the papers to her stack. It was just one Special Subject class, and she hadn't even needed an interview to be hired for it; it didn't seem right that the rest of the hiring process should be this complicated.

"Be careful you don't write on the pink sheets; those are for human resources to fill out!" the clerk called after her. "If you find any of the forms confusing, you can always come back and ask. We're open from eleven to one on weekdays except Friday, and until three on Wednesdays."

"Thank you!" Kivrin called back, and resolved not to need their help.

She wandered down the pavement, flipping through the papers. Payment transfers, gradebook, withholding, committee service—surely she wouldn't be expected to serve on a committee if she was only teaching the one class for a single term? She looked closer, but the form didn't mention any exceptions.

The problem was, once one took a break from academic life for any amount of time, much less the few years that Kivrin had been away, one lost track of all one's little connections—who could advise on which of these forms were actually important, who knew where to get a cup of tea at all hours, and most of all, who knew all the latest gossip. Of course she could get some sort of list of committees through official channels, probably the office she had just left; but it wouldn't include any information on which committees were acrimonious or made unrealistic requirements of one's time. Mr. Dunworthy might know. And she'd been meaning to tell him she was back. He'd no doubt heard through other sources by now, but she thought he deserved to be told in person. She missed him sometimes; it would be good to see him again.

 

"If you want to avoid blundering into long-seated disagreements that you know nothing about, you'd be safest on one of the committees that was formed relatively recently," Dunworthy said. "The scoring committee is the youngest. Actually, it was created in response to your practicum." He handed her a tin of biscuits and settled himself at his desk across from her. "There were concerns about the fact that the only thing needed for Gilchrist to seize power and rescore the Middle Ages was the temporary absence of the Head of History. The university decided that more checks and balances were needed, so they created a committee that has to approve any changes in the risk rankings assigned to each century. Which, as you can imagine, is not something that there is a very frequent need to change, so I would imagine you'll find it the least intensive committee to be on by far."

"There wouldn't be any—well—conflict of interest, would there? Because I was involved in the temporary rescoring of the fourteenth century?"

Dunworthy shook his head. "None of the official records afford you any portion of blame for the rescoring. The only thing that could be possibly held against you would be your preparing for the fourteenth century while it was still a ten; but historians have always—and they continue to this day—been prepping for closed time periods on the off chance they'll be opened. The blame for the rescoring lies completely on Gilchrist and Basingame, where it belongs."

"Well, then." Kivrin refolded the paperwork and tucked it into her bag. "It seems a simple choice."

"If only everything could be that simple," Dunworthy said. "Care to have some tea before you go?"

Kivrin nodded. "I have plenty of time. I only have the one class once a week. I haven't gone over my entire lecture but I have a list of the points I want to cover, so it shouldn't take me long to write."

Dunworthy walked over to the kettle in the corner of the office. "I was starting to wonder if you'd ever return to Oxford," he said.

"I was beginning to wonder as well," Kivrin replied. "I didn't really mean to be away for so long, it just happened that way."

"So what have you been doing?" He handed her a teacup, and brought the tin of biscuits over from the desk.

"Well...I did a lot of gardening. For as long as I can remember, my mum has had a vegetable garden in the spring and summer, and an herb garden all year round. She kept sending me outside when she thought I had been sitting doing nothing for too long. Eventually I asked her for a space of my own, and had a flower garden. Nothing practical, just pretty flowers. Anemones, freesia, gladioli..."

"Gladiolus for remembrance," Dunworthy said.

"Yes." She pushed herself to smile. "Also, as you've probably heard, I started graduate studies during that time, but I was doing them through a distance learning program. I merely didn't want to move back here again and leave my family and my counselors and my flowers."

"How is the graduate program?"

"It's gone very well, for the most part. I only have a couple of classes remaining, but I'm taking a break. The next thing I need to do is propose a destination for my advanced practicum and start working towards that, and I—I still don't feel ready to actually go on another practicum. Around the time I decided to take a few terms off, I got the call from Mr. Ranniford asking me to take over a Special Subject class whose lecturer had been called away. So here I am. I'm only staying for the one term, though; then I'm back to Kettering."

"It's good to have you back," Dunworthy said. "Let me know how you get on. My door is open any time."

 

Half a dozen undergraduate students had registered for Kivrin's class, but only four even bothered to show up for the first lecture. None of them looked familiar; they must have started after Kivrin had left. She asked them all to introduce themselves and tell an interesting thing about their lives; from the eye rolls, she suspected that they all already knew each other, or at least didn't care for forced introductions. Her own interesting thing was that she knew how to force daffodil bulbs to bloom in the middle of winter. She didn't tell them anything else about herself, and if the students knew what she wasn't telling them, they didn't say.

Actually, they didn't say much of anything. Except when she asked one of them a direct question, they slouched silently in their seats, radiating boredom. Kivrin didn’t remember ever being that standoffish when she’d been a student. How would they become successful historians if this was their approach to the unfamiliar? But there was nothing for it but to forge ahead. "In this class, we're going to focus on church records of the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, and what we can learn from them," she said. "I know that now that we can travel to the past, old records may seem rather boring in comparison, but without them, the study of history would be even more difficult than it is today. For centuries before time travel was invented, the only way historians could study the past was to consult primary sources. However, they still found secondary sources useful as an addition to their research. And correspondingly, now that we have access to the nullary source of time travel, we still find primary sources useful. The first primary source we will be consulting is a translation of selected records from the Cathédrale Saint-Lazare d'Autun."

The students stared back at her, eyes dull. This was going to be a long eight weeks.

 

When the class ended, the students stood up and filed out of the room, seizing handhelds and pocket vidders with the energy they had been lacking minutes earlier. None stayed after to ask any questions. The cathedral records _were_ rather dry; she'd have to look for something more interesting for next week. Or perhaps the students were just tired; the first week of term was always busy with extra activities beyond the normal class schedule. At least, it was busy for students. Kivrin, on the other hand, wasn’t sure what to do with herself now that her class was over until next week.

She realized that her hands were shaking. Annoyed, she forced them to be still, slowly picking up her handwritten notes page by page until she had herself under control. Her hands had never done that before. But then, she'd never taught a class before. As an historian, she ought to have enjoyed the new experience, but she was still so tired. She couldn’t bring herself to feel happy about any part of the class except that it was over. Though it had gone well, she supposed. The students might not care about the topic, but at least she had presented it clearly and extensively. If they didn't get anything out of it, that wasn't her fault.

But she still wished she were back in her flower garden. Why had she come back to Oxford?

Really, she knew why; she just didn't want to admit it to herself. If she hadn't come back, she would have been admitting she was never going to be an historian again. Coming back was telling herself that she hadn't quite given up, not yet. And she wouldn't give up now, no matter how the students treated her. It was only eight weeks.

 

The scoring committee met in a boardroom at Merton. Merton was not a college that Kivrin knew well, so she made sure to head over early. Professor Claridge, the head of the committee, greeted her at the door with a handshake and some phatic pleasantries. Few of the other committee members were there that early and none of them were people Kivrin knew, so she found a seat and lost herself in outlining her next lecture while she waited for the meeting to begin. She really ought to follow up on the Autun records so that the students would fully understand their significance. Perhaps Notre-Dame de Paris would have records from the same time period that she could have the students compare and contrast. She made a note for later.

"Kivrin!" An arriving committee member came up behind her and placed a hand on the back of her chair. "I didn't expect to see you here. How long have you been back at Oxford?"

Kivrin smiled in surprise. "John Bartholomew!" She scrambled to her feet to hug her old roommate. "I didn't expect to see you here, either! I've only been here since beginning of term. I was called in to teach a Special Subject class, and then I needed committee service so I thought this committee would be a good choice. Actually, Mr. Dunworthy suggested it."

John pulled out the chair next to her. "It's certainly one of the easiest committees." He lowered his voice. "It's basically a sinecure. So far we've never changed the rankings for anything, and it's not often that we're even asked to. Lately, there's one student who has a wild hair to go to a part of the past that's a ten for him, so we've had to listen to his presentation at each meeting. He's very persistent: he's been coming before us for multiple terms now. But other than when someone's asking for a change, the meetings usually only go for ten minutes or less."

"Have you been on the committee long?" Kivrin asked.

"Only since I became a tutor. Not the year after we were roommates, but the year after that. So a while. Once I realized how easy it was, I didn't see any reason to switch to anything else."

The room was filling up; Kivrin looked around them. "It's not a very balanced committee, is it?" she remarked. With three minutes remaining before the official start of the meeting, she was one of only three women in the room. And other than an Asian woman two seats down from her and a black man standing near the door, everyone appeared to be white.

"What, because most of the people look like me?" John said. "I suppose not. That's just the way time travel is, that it's easiest for non-minorities to fit in the past, and so that's usually who succeeds enough as an historian to make it to this point. That probably hasn't helped Lewis, though."

"Who's Lewis?"

John pointed out the black man Kivrin had seen near the door. "T.J. Lewis, whose presentation I'm sure you'll get to hear today, just as we've heard him every fortnight for the past two terms. He wants the scores for blacks to be broken down by century and decade and reanalyzed, instead of the current blanket ten for everything before 1965. But he's not claiming that the past has gotten safer for blacks—not that it could, since the past doesn't change—he just wants to go to the past because he has some sort of project he needs data for and he hasn't been able to find anyone else who can take the readings for him. But you'll hear all about it soon enough. So how have you been? Have you been doing your graduate study outside of Oxford? I'd heard you weren't coming back—"

He broke off as Professor Claridge announced in a stentorian voice, "This meeting will now come to order. The secretary will call the roll. Mr. Eustis?"

 

Everyone present seemed content to move things along as fast as possible, and announcements flew by in quick succession, scarcely marked by those in attendance. After only a few minutes, Claridge announced: "There being no old business, we move directly to new business. Is there any new business?"

T.J. Lewis stepped forward, raising his hand. Professor Claridge looked down at the table, pretending he didn't see anything. "I want to request that the scoring committee reconsider their ranking of the past as a blanket ten for black historians," T.J. said firmly. He stepped forward so that he was standing at the foot of the table. A rustle went around the table as several committee members sighed or slouched in their chairs, but nobody interrupted him. "The net is a useful tool, and one that I am sure you will all agree we want to continue to use for years to come. However, at times it misfires and sends historians to times other than they would expect, whether by minutes or hours, making it more difficult to use. The more we can understand slippage and the reasons for it, the more we can plan for stable usage of the net far into the future."

"His project is actually rather interesting," John whispered to Kivrin. "I don't understand the half of it, though."

"There are two aspects to slippage," T.J. continued. "The metaphysical question—not yet completely answered to anyone's satisfaction—of why it occurs, and the physical question of what exactly is occurring in the lab–destination metatunnel during the actual occurrence of slippage. One way we can address this second question is by taking energy readings from outside a drop as it opens and closes, and comparing those readings between drops in different circumstances. Control drops, made to the same laboratory an hour later, will have no slippage whatsoever. In comparison to this, we want to take readings at two cathedrals we have chosen as targets: St. Paul's and Coventry. For each of these cathedrals, there will be two drop locations. One will be at the cathedral itself, while the second drop will be a few kilometers away—definitely no more than an hour's walk, as more would increase the difficulty of the mission. These readings will be taken at various times significant for each cathedral, as well as at regular intervals of a century, using the same temporal destination for both cathedrals in that latter case. From these readings, we will be able to learn more about how the net functions, and hopefully make it safer for future generations of historians. Now, since this is a project that I originated—with the counsel of my supervisor, Clarence Graham—and I created the particular measurement tool that will be used, I am the best choice for the person who would take the readings."

"Either that or he hasn't been able to get anybody else on board with his project," John murmured. "Graham is a computer scientist; he doesn't have clearance to undertake time travel, nor any interest in getting cleared."

"Unfortunately, I am barred from time travel of any sort due to my skin color and to overarching assumptions about the danger it would be to me in the past. I do not think this indiscriminate closure of the past to black people is justified. The project I propose is one of the safest possible, with little time spent in the past and minimal interaction with contemps. I request that the scoring committee review the century-by-century scoring of the past for blacks, and make such changes to the extant scores as it determines to be necessary. Thank you."

The sigh of relief from around the table was scarcely audible beneath Professor Claridge's announcement: "Request denied. This meeting is—"

"What, aren't we going to discuss the request?" Kivrin asked. Everyone turned and stared at her. They all looked surprised, T.J. most of all.

"Err...hem... Yes, of course we'll discuss it," Professor Claridge said. "But in private, of course. Please clear the room of everyone who is not a member of the committee. Mr. Lewis? Thank you." He waited as T.J. gathered up his papers and walked out of the room.

"Don't push it too far," John whispered. "You'll only make people angry without achieving anything."

Claridge whirled on Kivrin as soon as the door had clicked shut behind T.J. "Are you trying to make extra work for us?" he snapped. "The current scores are fine, there's only one person who's ever complained...why should we waste time analyzing something that's served us perfectly well for decades?"

John put his hand on Kivrin's arm and leaned forward. "Perhaps the reason he's the only person who's complained," he said, "is because the other people who would have been blocked from time traveling by these scores admitted defeat before they would have become historians in the first place."

"Well, then maybe they should have tried harder. We can't be expected to cater to every potential student who gives up because they can't make it at our level."

"Mr. Lewis is a current student," Kivrin objected.

"Miss Engle, I'm not sure you're a good fit for this committee," Professor Claridge said. "I understand that you are not yet familiar with the atmosphere and culture of our committee, having just joined it, but would be well advised not to speak up in meetings until you can show that you have become familiar with it. Do you understand?"

Kivrin nodded, teeth clenched.

"The denial of Mr. Lewis's request stands. This meeting is adjourned."

Kivrin sat quietly at the table. Around her, committee members scrambled to their feet with murmurs of "Finally!" and "Might as well be on the exam scheduling committee if we're going to take this long." Already she regretted the attention her spur-of-the-moment outburst had attracted. Why had she cared? Perhaps T.J. Lewis reminded her of a woman a few years ago, around T.J.'s age, who'd once nagged Mr. Dunworthy about the Middle Ages to the point of distraction. But she'd been luckier than T.J.; this committee was a far less generous audience.

"I think that's the most excitement we've had in the entire time I've been on this committee," John told her quietly. "Though the first time Lewis presented comes close; he pushed back on Claridge's denial a lot more than he has since."

"All to no avail?"

"Claridge never considered it for a moment. But on the bright side, at least his disobliging nature keeps the meetings short and simple. I'm in the throes of my thesis, so anything that reduces my duties outside of that is a relief."

"Oh, how's your thesis going?" Kivrin scooped up her papers and accompanied John out of the boardroom.

John shrugged. "Lots and lots and lots of writing. All of my research is complete, so there's nothing to break up the monotony of writing."

"Except meetings like these."

John nodded. He held the door for Kivrin as they walked out of the building. "And frankly, as much as I bemoan the interruption, it can come in handy sometimes. I was having trouble getting anything written this morning; maybe I'll be in a better frame of mind when I get back to work. Speaking of which, I'd better stop delaying my return to work. It was good to see you. Perhaps we should get lunch sometime."

"Perhaps," Kivrin said. "It was nice to see you as well!" She watched him scramble down the stairs, then followed more sedately.

T.J. Lewis was sitting at the bottom of the stairs, flipping through the papers he held and sketching something on graph paper. He stood up as she reached him. "Thanks for your help in there," he said. "I haven't been officially informed, but I take it the request was still denied?"

"I'm sorry," Kivrin said.

"It's okay," T.J. said; "I wasn't really expecting much after they've already denied it half a dozen times. And it was a nice change of pace to have anyone speak up on my behalf. You're one of Mr. Dunworthy's students, right? Kivrin Engle?"

"Yes, do you know Mr. Dunworthy? And I'm sorry I couldn't do more."

"Mr. Dunworthy is the person who dragged me out of computer science and threw me into the deep end of temporal physics. Last year, during the Coventry Cathedral affair. He asked me to research parachronistic incongruities and do sims of the slippage surrounding them. It was just supposed to be for that incident, so they could figure out what was going on. That was the one with the cats, you know. But the results I got were so fascinating that I've been obsessed with slippage ever since."

"Well, that's a very useful thing to be obsessed with," Kivrin said. "I'm sure there are a lot of historians grateful for your research."

"Just not grateful enough to help facilitate it," T.J. said. "It's not as shiny as more directly history-based research. And frankly, I suspect that for as many historians as want to find out exactly why slippage happens, there's an equal number that want to pretend it doesn't exist and don't want their game of pretend disturbed by cold, hard facts."

"Including, one would suspect, a number of people on the committee you just addressed."

"Exactly." T.J. slipped his papers back inside a binder and put his hands in his pockets. "They want the study of history to be perceived to be as safe as possible. They don't particularly care if it's _actually_ safe, just that people believe it is. Which isn't exactly conducive to lowering ratings. You'd never be able to get to the 1300s today." He looked sharply at her. "Which means you're still the only person who's gone to a ten."

"It wasn't a ten, it was rescored to a six—"

"Yes, but we all know that was arbitrary and the score of ten was restored immediately afterwards. It still counts." There was something like hope in his eyes. "Do you have any advice on traveling to a ten? There's a coffee bar near here, I could buy you something to drink if you'd like to talk further."

Kivrin shook her head. She'd just meant to make conversation and hear a bit more about his project, not get pulled in and give herself more to do. Especially not anything that required her to talk about 1348. "I'm sorry, I have to go."

T.J. frowned and turned to pick up his binder. "Okay. Thanks again for speaking up in there."

Kivrin started to leave, then stopped suddenly. "Come to think of it, have you spoken to Elizabeth Bittner?"

"No. Should I?"

"Most definitely. When the scoring system was first implemented, there was some talk of making the past a ten for women. I'm not familiar with all the details, but I believe Elizabeth Bittner's interference was one of the main factors that caused their proposal to fail, leading to the scoring system as we know it today."

T.J. was grinning. "I wasn't aware of that! I'll definitely talk to her. Thanks for the lead!"

Kivrin nodded. "You're welcome. Good afternoon." She headed down the road, back towards Brasenose.

 

Between fleshing out her next lecture, marking essays, and drafting a paper proposal, Kivrin kept herself busy the next week. Yet in the midst of it all she still found time to wonder what T.J. was doing. Had he spoken to Elizabeth Bittner? Was he already planning his next presentation to the scoring committee, and thinking about what to say differently the next time? Perhaps she should have helped him more. It wasn't as if she had a lot else to spend time on, and his project did sound worthwhile. But she had so few connections at Oxford currently; could she afford to risk so many of them in one go by angering the scoring committee?

As her class met for the second time, she pushed all thoughts of T.J. from her head. The students still stared at her. She pretended she was a time traveler whose cover story was that of a lecturer. If she were writing a thesis on these four students and how they corresponded to the culture of 2059, what would she say?

Probably that none of the cared much about the topic. Which wasn't the fault of the culture of 2059; there had been disengaged students throughout history. "Your next essay is due Thursday at noon," she concluded. "The topic is on contradictions between primary sources and nullary observation. In what situations do perceived contradictions not truly exist? And when the contradictions do exist, how do historians address them?  List as many different theories on this as you can find in your research, and I want you to tell me your personal thoughts and opinions of each theory. Class dismissed."

Once again, the students got up and left the classroom without a word. They'd been writing constantly during the class; Kivrin hoped they had been taking notes and recording the essay assignment, and not, say, making plans for the weekend or working on essays for tutorials they cared more about. Not that there was much she could do about it if they were. She gathered up her notes on the lecture. It had been a rather interesting topic, actually. The issue of contradiction between what they had read and what they saw was something every historian had to face. Usually, what they had read had been too general, and their observations turned out to be the exception to the rule. But it was unwise for historians to assume that this was the case—for sometimes it was a sign of something else entirely, as when Kivrin had found herself in 1348 instead of 1320. In her case, some of the divergences between what she'd been taught and what she'd encountered had been due to errors in her education, as with the vowel sounds in Middle English; but others had been due to the error in her coordinates, and the decades that had passed from her intended destination. And decades always passed, whether by mistake or by slippage or by the still mostly inexorable passage of time. Time was— Kivrin jumped at a sound. She realized she was no longer alone with her thoughts in the classroom. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"

"I said, I went to see Mrs. Bittner as you advised."

"Oh, T.J.! I was just thinking about you earlier and wondering if you'd had a chance to talk to her yet."

"I'm flattered," he said with a grin. "How was your class?"

Kivrin looked around at the empty classroom. "Rather unexceptional, I have to admit."

"They were all talking about some football match this evening when they left the classroom; I imagine it was difficult to be more fascinating than that. But as I was saying, I talked to Mrs. Bittner. Would you like to hear about what she had to say? That coffee or tea is still on offer if you're interested."

She had no other plans for the day. And she'd been regretting not helping him all week. What harm could a cup of tea do? Kivrin nodded. "I'd like that, thanks."

 

"So as you're aware," T.J. said over a sublimated caramel caffè chiazzato, "Mrs. Bittner—or Elizabeth Schroter as she was at the time—was one of the only women involved in the early days of the net at Oxford. She told me that in some ways, especially at the beginning, there was nothing in particular different for her about being an historian. When they were doing all their short proof-of-concept drops, they would just send through whoever was next on the list, and nobody ever hesitated about sending a woman through when it was Elizabeth's turn to go. She said that actually the person they hesitated most about sending through was Dunworthy, because on his first time through he ran off to see the old Bodleian and frightened the lab techs out of their wits. And of course, in those early days there was no scoring system."

"That came a few years later," Kivrin said.

"Right. There was some discussion of it in 2015 and 2016, but it wasn't fully implemented until 2020, after she had married Bishop Bittner and retired from academia. After her retirement, there weren't any female historians for several years, which is probably why the proposal of tens for women got as far as it did. But Mrs. Bittner still had several close friends among the historians, and they got in touch with her and coordinated efforts to point out how poorly the exclusion of women might be received."

"Was that all it took?"

"To hear her tell it, yes. Of course the pointing out consisted of several meetings with people in leadership positions, and making it rather clear that the historians would mutiny if women were excluded. Not just repeating the same presentation over and over again to minor committees." He stirred his chiazzato, watching the caramel vapor waft off of it. "I think I've proven that's less than effective."

"I take it you're unhappy with your current methods, then. Do you have a plan for how you're going to change them up?"

"I have a few ideas I've been working on. For one, I've decided I need to recruit some allies. One of the things I took away from my interview with Mrs. Bittner was that all the history students had to end up working together before they could make enough progress. And I've already found you, so that's a start. Actually, before I decided for certain what to do next, I wanted to ask if you had any suggestions in that regard. After I've been spinning in circles for so long, your recommendation of Mrs. Bittner really helped me get my thinking on a new track. Do you have anything else up your sleeve?"

Kivrin still wasn't sure. Did she want the new ties to Oxford that helping T.J. would give her? Did she want one more life on her conscience, if her actions helped make it possible for him to go to a time that should be a ten?

Her hesitation was obvious to T.J. "I can't get there without you," he said. "Please."

"Do you even have the clearance to travel as an historian? You're not an historian, you're a temporal physicist."

"I've still studied a lot of the same topics. I've had an entire year of practical time travel classes, so I know how to survive in and blend into a time other than my own. I haven't taken any of the courses on how to observe, analyze, and report what I find there, but none of that is really needed for my project. For historians, the point of going to the past is interacting with contemps, and if they aren't able to observe and report it properly, the time is wasted. But for me, the point of going to the past will be taking measurements. I wouldn't mind if I didn't meet a single contemp, although the chances of that happening are slim."

"But that's unlikely. And if you do meet contemps—what if the committee is right, and these times really are dangerous for you?"

"I don't think they are," T.J. said. "Well, except that all of life is dangerous in one way or another. But I don't think any of my target time periods deserve to be a ten for black people. I've been researching them as part of constructing my project proposal, and none fall at times of particularly heightened racial tension or anything else that would make them especially dangerous for minorities, other than the perpetual issue of minorities finding it harder to blend in."

"Even if your destination doesn't deserve a ten, that doesn't mean you'll be safe there. As you just said, all of life is dangerous, but that doesn't mean some activities don't make it more dangerous than others. We haven't lost an historian since the introduction of Pulhaski coordinates, but only because we've been very very lucky; we've had some very close shaves."

"Like your experience."

"Yes, exactly."

"So, would you rather you hadn't gone?"

"Yes." Kivrin took a decisive sip of tea.

T.J. raised an eyebrow, skeptical.

"Really, I would. I nearly died."

"And all the people that you met there, in 1348. You think your life would be better off if you'd never met them?"

Kivrin sipped at her tea in lieu of reply. Would it? Was it too selfish of her to wish never to have met the people she had lost? To wish she'd left Father Roche to die alone? Could she bring herself to wish that fate upon him? She wasn't sure that she could.

"I've read the report on your assignment. It's a required text for introductory Temporalogy. You said that some of the people there thought you were an angel, come to help them. You made their lives better. Do you wish you hadn't?"

"Sometimes, I do," Kivrin said quietly, without meeting his eyes. "But you're right, it wasn't all bad." She stared at her tea, swirling it slowly around in the cup. "But it wasn't all good, either. It changed me. I don't think I like what it did to me, either."

"What did it do to you? I didn't know you before, so I can't compare. But I know that you are a kind, considerate, and thoughtful person. I don't want to assume anything about what happened to you, but if it helps, I want you to know that you're a good person that anybody would be happy to have around."

Kivrin flushed. She looked down at her tea to hide her face. "I don't...I just don't feel like I belong here anymore."

"What you went through, that's part of what being an historian _is_. All those theoretical historians sitting there in that committee, closing off the past to others while not taking advantage of their own opportunities...if anybody doesn't belong here, they don't. If you don't want to be here, that's another thing entirely, and that's your right. But you belong." He seemed to realize what he'd said, and turned away, avoiding her gaze in consternation. "I suppose I probably just talked you out of helping me," he said. "And make no mistake, I'd love for you to help me if you wanted to. But you know what's best for you, and maybe this isn't what's best for you right now."

What was best for her? Kivrin had no idea what was best for her. Was it too late to go back to her garden? Could she even be happy there or would she bring too many regrets with her, for things undone and people unaided? Perhaps she was one of her winter bulbs, forced to bloom out of season by the reminder of what she was and could be again, if she chose. Not that there was much choice in it for her—she’d supported T.J. from the start and she didn't know if she could bring herself to turn her back on him now. The historian’s desire to know, to see for herself, was still present, pulsing in the back of her brain. She folded her hands in front of her. "I'm not completely talked out of it yet," she said. "Let's say, for the sake of argument, that I did decide to help you. I don't have any suggestions in mind for you at this point; Elizabeth Bittner was the only lead I knew of off the top of my head. But if I were willing to go along with you, what would be our next move? Do you have any ideas?"

T.J. reached into his binder and pulled out some notes and sketches. "Do you want the short answer or the long one?" he said. He picked up his handheld, pressed a few buttons, and set it on top of the papers. "I don't have any plans set in stone right now, but I have some thoughts. First of all, the scoring committee seems the obvious target. It's pretty cut and dried; if they don't change the scoring, I don't go."

"So what are the scoring committee's motivations? What makes them decide what to do?"

"Exactly what I've been trying to figure out. So far as I can tell, their main motivation is to make their committee meetings as short as possible."

Kivrin huffed a laugh. "I've only been to one meeting so far, but I'm inclined to agree with you."

"But that leads to the flaw in my reasoning: I'm talking about the committee as a homogeneous group, but obviously it isn't. You're a member of the committee, but you don't seem motivated by short meetings. And presumably there are other committee members who do not agree with Professor Claridge's viewpoints in all particulars, even if they remain reluctant to confront him. So we need to know who the members of the committee are that are more sympathetic and approachable...if there are any."

"The only person I'm acquainted with on the committee is John Bartholomew," Kivrin said. "He's thoughtful and fair-minded, but he's also extremely busy with his thesis right now. I suspect his sentiments lie with the 'short meetings above all else' group for the time being, but I could apply some pressure if we thought it would accomplish enough."

"And another question: regardless of the committee's motivations, what means do we even have of getting them to do what we want? Your acquaintance with Bartholomew gives us access to one person. How well do you know him?"

"We were roommates a couple years ago. We were never the best of friends, but as historians we have a lot in common. We've kept in touch, but we haven't gone out of our ways to spend time together. If I were to appeal to him, it would be as a fellow historian more than as an ex-roommate."

"And you don't know any of the other members of the committee? I know I don't, because I studied comp sci and only switched to temporal physics when I started my grad studies. But you're an historian, and so are most of the people on the committee. I would have thought you'd be familiar with a few more."

"I haven't been particularly involved lately," Kivrin said. "I just haven't felt motivated to go back in time again. And without time travel, what sort of an historian am I?"

"You're the sort of historian who still cares more than eighty percent of the historians on that committee," T.J. said. "And besides, I don't think very many of them have traveled in time recently." He tapped at his handheld. "It seems to me that we just don't know enough about the committee and its members. What's the best way to go about remedying that lack?"

"Mr. Dunworthy," Kivrin said promptly. "He's been an historian since before rankings existed, much less the scoring committee. Even if he doesn't know all of the specific people on the committee, he'll know more than we do."

"I agree," T.J. said. "But do you think he'll have time to talk to us? I've stopped by his office several times, but both he and his secretary were out and nobody knew where he was to be found. The only time he was there, he told me he was knee-deep in paperwork and could I come back later. But maybe I've just had bad luck."

"A few days ago, he told me his door is always open," Kivrin said, feeling a sudden impulse of bravery. "Why don't we go test that?" For so long, she'd been passively waiting for normality to return. Perhaps she needed to pursue it instead. Perhaps that was why she'd returned to Oxford.

"You mean now?" T.J. asked. At her nod, he shoved his papers back into his binder and flicked a switch on the handheld. "I'm glad to have some fresh input on this project, and be going places and doing things to move it along again," he said. "When nothing changed for so long, I'd started to get tired. But now, even if I'm not making much headway, it still feels more like progress."

 

Mr. Finch, Dunworthy's secretary, was at the outer desk when they arrived. He was rummaging through a cardboard box that was making mewling noises. "Mr. Dunworthy is in an interview right now," he said. "Is he expecting you?"

"No; we can wait," T.J. said.

"I think he'll still be a little while," Finch said. "You're welcome to take a seat."

"May we pet the kittens first?" Kivrin asked. "Oh, this one's trying to escape!"

"Absolutely," Finch said with a smile. "That is Esmerelda. She's four weeks old."

The kitten meowed almost inaudibly. "It's adorable!" Kivrin said, stroking it.

T.J. reached into the box and picked up the smallest kitten, a tabby with a white face. "They're terribly sweet," he said. "Have kitten retrievals been continuing at the same pace for you?" he asked. "You've got quite a few here."

"Yes, actually I've tracked down and retrieved three different litters in the last month alone," Finch said. "A month our time, that is; all of the retrievals were run real-time, but to multiple decades."

"Congratulations," T.J. said. "I'm surprised you've managed to keep up with everything here in our time when you have to be gone so much."

"Well, I must admit it's been getting harder and harder," Finch said. "Actually, I'd prefer if you don't spread this around as I haven't officially announced anything to the college, but that's what Mr. Dunworthy's interview is for. I've decided to retire as secretary and transfer to working full time on kitten retrieval and rehabilitation, while also starting work on a doctorate in history."

"Then even more congratulations are in order!" T.J. said. "I'm sure Mr. Dunworthy will be sorry to lose you, but I know you've done a lot of work with kittens, and I'm glad you'll be able to devote even more of your energies to that."

Kivrin nodded. "It's been so wonderful this last year seeing cats around again. I went to the exhibit at the London Zoo last April."

Finch beamed. "All of those were kittens of mine, except the two clones. That was before the cloning program was fully operational, and they'd only made a few as proof of concept. Did you have a favorite?"

"There was one that was all gray, almost silver," Kivrin said. "It kept jumping at the glass and interacting with the visitors on the other side, while all the other cats stayed further back."

"That was probably Euphemia," Finch said. "She was never shy, almost from the moment she was born." He pushed one of the larger kittens gently back into the box. "If you don't mind keeping an eye on the kittens for a moment, I'll let Mr. Dunworthy know that you're waiting," he said. He slipped into the inner office.

"I think mine just wants to go to sleep," T.J. said. "I forgot to ask her name. Or his, I can't tell which. I don't know much about cats. It's funny. You'd think I would have spent more time interacting with them, considering how much Finch's and my paths crossed during the Coventry Cathedral affair."

"Why didn't you?"

"I didn't think of it at the time, so I didn't ask. I was still in undergrad during those events, and in way over my head. As soon as people stopped asking me to do things for them, I breathed a sigh of relief and went back to my studies. I didn't realize till afterwards that it might have been worth my while to stick around."

"Well, you've stuck around to some extent, or you wouldn't have switched to temporal physics," Kivrin said.

"Yeah. There's just something about time travel, don't you think? Once you're exposed to it, some people don't care at all, some people think it's useless and get angry at the continuum for limiting its uses, and some...well, they're hooked for life."

"Do you think I'm hooked for life?" Kivrin asked. "I used to think I was, but now I'm not so sure."

"You're still here, aren't you?"

The door to Mr. Dunworthy's office opened. Finch exited, followed by a slim bespectacled man. "Thanks for watching the kittens," Finch said. "This is Mr. Eddritch. He'll be taking my place as Mr. Dunworthy's secretary."

Kivrin and T.J. wished the newcomer congratulations, and shook hands all around.

"Mr. Dunworthy is waiting for you in his office," Finch added. He took Esmerelda back from Kivrin.

"Good luck with your kitten work," T.J. said, setting his kitten back in the box. He followed Kivrin into the inner office.

Dunworthy was brewing a pot of tea at the side table when they entered. "It's good to see you again so soon," he said to Kivrin. "What brings you here?"

"Trying to change the scoring system," Kivrin said.

Dunworthy raised an eyebrow. "I'm surprised that's something you'd want to get involved in. Which era do you want to change the score for?" He looked past her, at T.J. "Or is it less a specific time and more a group of people?"

T.J. nodded. "I used to not be particularly bothered by the past being a ten for blacks," he said, "but lately I wish it wasn't. I'm doing my masters on slippage and some new methods of measuring it, which is difficult when I can't just go take my measurements myself. And I've been doing research on the dangers, and I don't think that a blanket ten for blacks is justified. I've brought my request before the scoring committee several times now, but Kivrin is the first person there who's expressed any interest."

"So what did the scoring committee say when you presented your ideas to them?" Dunworthy asked.

"Request denied, mostly."

"They didn't bother listening very hard," Kivrin added.

"And how do you come in?"

"I thought the project sounded interesting. I was annoyed that Claridge didn't bother to give it a chance, and I thought if I listened to what he had to say, maybe I could somehow make up for what the committee wasn't providing. And then I just thought he could use the help."

"Kivrin is the only person I know who's been to a ten," T.J. said.

"So, what's your plan? A bigger, better presentation to the scoring committee? Or have you come up with any ways to get around them?"

"So far, just the bigger, better presentation," T.J. said. "We're doing research on any topic that might be remotely connected."

"We were wondering if you could tell us more about the history of the scoring system," Kivrin added, "And maybe we could use that to figure out a plan of attack. T.J.'s already been to see Mrs. Bittner."

"That's a good starting point," Dunworthy said. "Lizzie was in the middle of the first major disagreement on subdivision of rankings."

"You mean she kept the authorities from subdividing the scores into separate numbers for male and female."

"Yes. Well, she had some help, but she was the one who yelled the longest and the loudest, so she definitely deserves the most credit."

"Can you tell us more about what happened?" T.J. asked. "She told me some, but I think I need to hear more of the details as I try to figure out if any of what happened would be helpful for my situation."

"Hmm," Dunworthy said. He brought the tea tray over to the desk and poured three cups. "It's been a long time." He settled himself into the chair on the other side of the desk. "Well, to begin with, the scoring system didn't even come into being until after Lizzie had married the bishop and retired from time travel. There were suggestions of it earlier, of course. Back in those days before history had become synonymous with time travel, most of the higher-ups didn't pay much attention to what we were doing in our dusty lab with our blinking lights and draped netting. But whenever they did remember that we were there, they would immediately start worrying that we were going to do something dangerous, and that that would make them look bad. So they would try to crack down on what we were doing and where we could travel to. Care for a biscuit?"

"Yes, please," Kivrin said.

Dunworthy passed the tin over. "As for us time travel students, we weren't doing anything particularly dangerous. The Ivers and Halstead incidents were only a few years prior at that point, so the possibility that one could die in time travel was only too fresh in our minds. But though we were careful about our actions, we still wanted control over them. Our learning was slow enough, what with all the precautions we had to take, and all the ways the net didn't always cooperate. If the authorities tried to add rules about where we could and couldn't go, that would just slow us down more." He gazed at the ceiling, recalling. "The first time, they only suggested some sort of logging system. We were keeping our own logs, but we never followed up on giving them a copy, and they seemed to forget about it. The second time they tried to meddle was the first time a scoring system was mentioned."

"And what was the reaction?" T.J. asked.

"We weren't impressed, and we didn't see a point. Of course we were predisposed to disregard any input from that quarter, as they had never made any suggestions we found actually helpful. And the way they described the scoring system, it sounded as if the only thing it would achieve was to take things we already had a decently good concept of, and force them to be delineated completely in black and white. It wasn't as if we were going to the really dangerous times—even without their input—if we could help it; but we didn't like the idea of being completely blocked off from them if we really needed to go there for some reason."

"So obviously that changed at some point. What happened?"

"Arnold P. Lassiter happened," Dunworthy said with a sigh. "It was less than a month after Lizzie's wedding when our previous head of the history faculty retired, and instead of hiring one of our history professors to be the new head, the administration hired a Cambridge don and leap-frogged him over all of our heads. Lassiter was one of the most nervous people I've ever met—though he would have said he was just being prudent. Prudence was his watchword. He didn't like anything we were doing, and he thought it was all far too dangerous. He didn't let us run any drops for nearly six months. By the time he brought back the idea of the scoring system, all of us figured it was better than not getting to travel at all."

"Was the scoring system envisioned in its current form at that point?"

"Not immediately; it changed several times. Originally, he suggested a system almost identical to the one that had been proposed before he was hired: a number from one to five was assigned to each decade of recent history, or century once it got before a certain point...I think 1700 although I can't recall for certain. It was an all or nothing concept: no division by gender or race. But unsurprisingly, it quickly grew more complicated. Lassiter enjoyed numbers and graphs and charts, and the scoring system gave him the opportunity to indulge that love to the fullest. He revised the system several times. I think at its most complicated, his proposal had scores from one to twenty, modified with the letters A through F, with separate scores for each half decade and separated out by age, gender, and race. He never developed that particular system fully before it was changed again, but I remember the score for a white male, age 20-25, traveling to the first half of the 1940s, was 16BE. The B meant that England was at war at some point during the half decade and the war included fighting on British soil. If we were at war but only overseas, that would have been an A. I can't remember what E meant. But I remember I was extremely frustrated at the possibility that I might not be able to go to the Blitz again. I stormed out of the meeting and went to lunch with Shoji and Lizzie to debrief. I wanted to complain about how I might never see St. Paul's again, but I couldn't get a word in edgewise, the way Shoji and Lizzie were yelling. And Lizzie was never much of one to yell; it caught me quite by surprise."

"Do you remember what any of the proposed scores were for either of them?"

"I remember there were quite a few twenties—the equivalents of tens in our current system. Obviously as far as the letter tags go, A and B didn't vary by race, gender, or age, but I think some of the others did. Was it C...no, D. When D was appended to a score, it meant that only historians who had gotten special personal approval from both the head of history and the Master of the college would be permitted to travel. Of course we all found it suspicious that D's were much more common on scores for females and non-Caucasians. Essentially, as soon as we sat down at lunch, Lizzie informed us that we were declaring war, and neither Shoji nor I have ever been able to say no to her, so we went along with it. We went to the Master and convinced him to go over Lassiter's head to the Research and Innovation Committee, making it clear that Lassiter's plan could be perceived as sexist. We had heard about a major donation that was in the planning stages, being given by a married couple—I can't recall their names, but it doesn't matter. We pointed out that the wife probably wouldn't want to hear about discrimination against women, and that it would reflect poorly on the university as a whole if the public found out. Not blackmail, per se, but as close as we could get under the circumstances."

"And what about Shoji Fujisaki? He also had to deal with high scores due to his race, didn't he?"

"Shoji was never as bothered by the scores as Lizzie was. He went along with our general fight against the scores, but he never drew attention specifically to his scores, and I must admit that I never thought about it. Those were the days when 'lab tech' and 'historian' were beginning to be separate jobs, instead of everybody doing everything as in the early days; and I think Shoji was already planning to transition to the tech side, staying in the lab and running things for others. He really was the best of us at handling the net, so no one questioned that. But looking back, we should have pushed back against his scores anyway. Because we didn't, we have now had separate scores for separate races for years, and the scoring system as a whole has calcified into something time-honored. Age and tradition can be useful, but sometimes our university honors them too much, and makes them too difficult to overturn."

"So do you think we even have a chance?" T.J. asked.

"Well, you won't have to appeal to Lassiter, who would have automatically said no, but neither are you able to appeal to Basingame, who was unpredictable but at least wanted to be helpful. Now that the scores are being run by a committee, they are less malleable in some ways, but your fate is not solely in the hands of one person. And committees, having diverse membership, also have diverse motivations."

"Such as wanting the meetings to be short, or being cowed by Professor Claridge," Kivrin said.

"So what methods did our predecessors use that we might borrow?" T.J. mused.

"I can't officially condone blackmail, but I will point out that it paid off in our case," Dunworthy said.

"You said specifically that you blackmailed them by threatening to speak to a donor. Are there any donors for whom it would help our cause if we spoke to them—or at least threatened to?"

"A direct parallel would be if we could find a black donor. Balliol isn't currently courting any. I'm not as familiar with the other colleges; I don't know of any, but it might be worth your while to make inquiries. Another option would be a donor who is interested in a time period where black historians would be useful. As much as the committee insists that history is safest for white historians, there are some destinations where they would stand out badly, and where black historians could be more effective." He tipped his head to the side, thinking. "Unfortunately, I can't recall any donors that fit that profile at the moment. I could ask Finch to put together a summary of repeated and potential donors and their interests."

"As much as I hate to suggest her," T.J. said, "I should point out that Lady Schrapnell tried to send me into the past on more than one occasion, to help with her pet project. If I could get assigned to work under her, she might try to push in that direction again. If we could direct her at the committee instead of hiding from her like we did before..."

"It would be like trying to steer a whirlwind," Dunworthy said.

"I know, and I admit I'd rather not have her anywhere around my project. But if we could keep her pointed at the scoring committee and, more importantly, pointed away from us, it might give us a chance." T.J. pulled out his binder. "I'll write her down as one option—but hopefully we'll be able to think of others."

"There's one tack we haven't addressed yet," Dunworthy said. "You've asked about when Lizzie and I went up against the early scoring system, but have you talked to Kivrin about how she ended up in a ten?"

"Good point," T.J. said. "We haven't discussed it much. From my studies, I know that her destination time period was provisionally rescored during a temporary failure in the chain of command in between Michaelmas and Hilary terms that year."

"Yes," Kivrin said, "but that was only possible because Basingame had a mental breakdown and told everyone he was going to Scotland. We can't make department heads have mental breakdowns on command."

"I don't know if that's completely outside the realm of possibility," Dunworthy pointed out with a smile. "Lady Schrapnell caused multiple resignations; it's not much of a leap from that to breakdowns, if, as T.J. mentioned, we kept her pointed in the right direction. But unfortunately—or fortunately, as the case may be—with the takeover of the scoring committee, the chain of command over rankings is no longer ever in the hands of one single person."

"So there's not much we can do with that," T.J. said.

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that," Dunworthy said. "There are other ways of undermining the chain of command. How many people does the committee need to have a quorum?"

"Oh!" Kivrin said. "I see what you're getting at. And I know this one; it was in the paperwork I was given when I joined the committee. They require five people for a quorum."

"And how many members are there currently?"

"The committee paperwork didn't mention it, but there were fifteen or sixteen people the day I went. T.J., do you know?"

"I haven't heard any official numbers either, but the most I've seen at any of the meetings I've been present for is twenty. The least I've seen is eight. That was at a meeting in the final week of last term, so people were probably busier than usual."

"Are there ever meetings outside of term time?" Dunworthy asked.

"Not that I know of. There haven't been any while I've been presenting my request, which I've been doing for nearly two full terms now. Unless they've held meetings without telling me, which I wouldn't put past them. They don't particularly appreciate my presenting at every meeting. When I began, the meeting times were posted publicly on a bulletin board, but now I have specifically go track down an admin and ask whether the meeting's been scheduled. I think they know that if they actively refuse to let me attend a meeting, I'll have a complaint I can escalate; but there's nothing to say they can't make it difficult."

"When you say 'they'," Kivrin said, "do you think it's a lot of committee members coordinating, or is it mostly Claridge?"

"From what I've observed, he seems to have two particular cronies on the committee—Statham and Eustis," T.J. said. "Statham seems to be mostly in charge of scheduling, so Claridge hasn't been the direct cause of my problems in that area. Gladwyn also helps with scheduling sometimes, but she seems to be okay. She's not trying to make things any easier or any more difficult, she's just trying to do what needs doing. I wish they'd hand scheduling fully over to her."

"And Eustis?"

"Never states an opinion that differs from Claridge's," T.J. said. "Sometimes, because variety is the spice of life, he moves to deny my request instead of Claridge straight-up denying it as he did today."

"So," Mr. Dunworthy said, "what if Claridge, Eustis, and Statham were temporarily got out of the way. How do you think the rest of the committee would feel about your project?"

"It's hard to say. None of them have ever been given a chance to express an opinion." He pulled out a sheet of paper from his binder. "This is the list of members of the committee. Are any of them people you're familiar with?"

Dunworthy took the list and looked it over, while Kivrin poured herself another cup of tea, and T.J. fiddled with his handheld. "Yes, I know most of these people to one extent or another," Dunworthy said finally. "You have quite a spread of opinions. But counting Kivrin, I think there are at least six who might be sympathetic to your project."

"And six is a quorum," T.J. said.

"Exactly. Of course that begs the question of how to keep as many as possible—outside those six—away from the meeting. But I do know that both Claridge and Statham will be traveling between terms to a major conference in the United States."

"Can they even call a meeting when it's not term time?" T.J. asked.

"That's what I was wondering," Dunworthy said. "Kivrin, do you know?"

"I don't recall seeing any rules against it," Kivrin said.

Dunworthy raised an eyebrow.

"It's the best idea we've had so far," T.J. said. "Do you think we can pull it off?"

"I think it's worth a try," Dunworthy said.

"It might work," said Kivrin.

"I'd rather not know the details of what you decide to do," Dunworthy said, "since these people are my colleagues. I'd rather be able to claim not to be involved if anyone asks me about the situation. But if you do need anything from me, let me know."

T.J. nodded. He stood up to leave, and Kivrin followed suit. "Thanks for all the advice," T.J. said.

Mr. Dunworthy shook his hand. "You're welcome, and good luck." He turned to Kivrin. "I'm glad you've found something to get involved in. The best of luck to you both."

 

"Do you have time now for more planning?" T.J. asked once they had left Dunworthy's office. "Our next steps should probably be done privately, since we'll need to be talking about specific people, so we shouldn't go back to the coffee bar. But you're welcome to come over to my place, and we can take over the dining room table with charts and notes for each committee member."

"Will there be room on the table for dinner?"

"We'll make room."

 

They ended up just setting the food on top of the papers; it was easier that way. T.J. already had notes on the committee members from when he had first begun to present to the committee—except of course for Kivrin, and for a lecturer named Anderson who was also a new addition to the committee. In between bites of curry, they copied T.J.'s notes onto cards for each person, and sorted the cards into piles.

"Does anyone qualify as 'must avoid at all costs' besides Claridge, Statham, and Eustis?" Kivrin asked, fanning out a handful of cards.

"There's always the possibility that one of the quiet committee members who never participates is actually a racist misogynist who is nursing a secret hatred for the study of slippage, but if so they're keeping it very quiet," T.J. said. "As far as our available evidence goes, no, those are the only impossibilities. But these here—" He gathered several cards up into a new pile. "These are the other committee members I'm most worried about. They can't shut us down the way Claridge, Statham, and Eustis can, but I've looked at their voting history on other issues that have been brought before the committee, and I believe they're unlikely to vote in favor."

"So, what, we try to keep them away from the meeting?"

"As many as we can. And for every one of them that we can't keep away from the meeting, we have to make absolutely certain that someone else on the meeting will vote for us." He scribbled some notes on a sheet of paper. "So. Find a time when the worst sticks-in-the-mud will be gone, maybe manufacturing a reason for them to leave if they won't all be gone at the same time. Inveigle the fence-sitters to our side. Get a meeting scheduled...maybe Gladwyn could help with that...but keep Claridge et al. from knowing about the meeting for as long as possible. Sharpen up my presentation to be as attractive and easy to say yes to as possible."

"And have your project ready to go as soon as they give us the go-ahead, so that we'll have already gone by the time they can decide if they want to stop us," Kivrin added.

"Yes!" T.J. said. "I've already got a lot of that part planned out." He tugged some other papers out of his binder and shoved them in front of her. "You see, I'll go through here—wait, did you say we?"

Kivrin flushed. "I...well, it's your very first excursion to the past and you're not even a full historian. It would hardly be wise for you to go alone."

"Yes, but—well, I thought you didn't want to go back in time after what happened last time. Not that I don't want you to go with me, of course. I'm flattered that you'd consider going with me. I'm just surprised."

Kivrin sorted through the cards, playing for time. "It took me a long time to realize," she said, looking at the table, "but I think this may be why I came back to Oxford. Because I was finally ready again. More ready than I knew." She leaned forward. "So tell me about your plans for the drop."

T.J. picked up the map again. "Well then, _our_ drop will be here, in Regent's Park. Anywhere in the park should be fine for my purposes, so I'll leave it up to the lab techs as to where they can find a convenient drop. Then here, at St. Paul's, is where the second drop will be. I want to get as close as possible—inside the cathedral, if we can." He handed over a second map, this one of the interior of St. Paul's. "I think the best possibilities are here by this screen, or here in this alcove. Unfortunately, the day I hope to arrive on will be a very busy one for St. Paul's, but as long as we can minimize slippage, I believe we can time it so there won't be a crowd inside. And at least the St. Paul's drop is egress only, so we'll possess visual of the drop prior to departure, which gives us the opportunity to possibly manipulate things if there are too many people around." He thrust the papers aside, nearly knocking over an abandoned dish of curry. "I can't wait to see what the data will show. My supervisor has done a couple of drops like this to measure the net from the other side, but he's never traveled more than a few years before he was born, much less to a date of any significance. This could finally help us predict slippage before it happens, which would let us make more accurate drops than ever before! Think of it: our sims of proposed drops could include the exact slippage they would sustain, and we could run sims over and over until we found a drop that when combined with its slippage, sent the historian to the exact destination they wanted to the very minute!"

Kivrin smiled. "I'm glad your work is something you can get so excited about," she said. "You remind me of my sister when she was trying to convince our parents to let her go to a party, or of Agnes—" She stumbled to a halt.

"Yes?"

"Agnes would—she would get excited about little things. Her puppy Blackie. Playing in the forest. You smiled like her just then."

"So do you," T.J. said. "Smile like that, I mean. I think you're almost as excited about this project as I am."

"You may be right," Kivrin said. "Just keep telling me about how this will change the future of time travel."

 

The next committee meeting was only two weeks after the first. It was far too early to reveal any of their plans, so Kivrin attended the meeting and stayed quiet, and T.J. made his usual presentation without any alterations, and they both watched to see how the different members of the committee reacted.

Kivrin thought it was quite like being on assignment, actually. She was subtly undercover, unable to talk about her own motivations, but trying to discern as much as she could about others' motivations. None of her history classes had covered Mid-Twenty-First Century, but people were much the same in any era, and she had nearly twenty-five years of life experience with the twenty-first century to fuel her observations.

She didn't have the corder in her hand anymore—nor would she have dared to speak into it in front of everyone if she had. She would have to rely on her memory, and whatever notes she might take discreetly. Flicking open a pen, she started to draw randomly on a blank sheet of paper. Loops and flowers formed under her hand, proclaiming her boredom and lack of interest to all who might glance at the paper.

Roberta Gladwyn leaned forward, interest on her face, as T.J. mentioned how slippage sims could lead to more accurate drops; Kivrin made loops that just happened to look like an R and a G on the left side of the page.

Constantin Rose sighed and Darin Graves rolled his eyes as T.J. began his final summation; Kivrin looped their initials much farther to the right. She was beginning to run out of room; she started cross-hatching inside some of the loops that didn't mean anything.

"Thank you for your consideration," T.J. said finally. A sigh went round the room, too general for Kivrin to add anyone to her drawing.

Claridge stood up. "Request denied. Is there any further business?" He waited a moment, but only silence greeted him. "This meeting is adjourned."

As everyone gathered their things and stood up, T.J. turned and walked out of the room, carrying his binder and handheld. At no point had he made eye contact with Kivrin.

Kivrin noted his departure, but gave no indication that she was paying any attention to him. She turned brightly to John Bartholomew, whom she was once again seated next to. "Any chance I could take you up on that lunch?" she asked.

John grinned. "Absolutely! In Hall?"

"If you wish...or maybe something farther away?" She tipped her head towards the head of the table, where Claridge and Eustis still stood chatting with each other. "Might be more relaxing for conversation."

John agreed, and she followed him out of the building and down the stairs. T.J. was sitting on the stairs, which was not at all unusual for him. And if Kivrin had her hand in a slightly awkward grip on her bag—and if she wouldn't have been holding her bag that way if John hadn't agreed to her proposal—there was no way that anyone would have known.

It was ten blocks to the restaurant; plenty of time for Kivrin to sound him out on the topic of T.J.'s project and to explain that she'd asked T.J. to join them. Their lunch was similarly filled with talking; Kivrin was curious, T.J. was hopeful, John was kind. He remained noncommittal about helping them, but he wasn't antagonistic about it, and Kivrin knew he was trustworthy. They wrote John down as a definite 'yes' vote, but he made them promise they wouldn't ask him for anything more.

"I'm glad to see you getting out and about again," John said. "Even a bit of good-natured plotting, too! Wouldn't have expected it of the Saint Kivrin I thought I knew."

"It's all in a good cause," Kivrin said. "And you know me, I like helping people. I helped you."

"You told me to trust Dunworthy," he said. "I think that's always good advice. Does he know what you're doing here? Actually, don't tell me. You've already told me too much. I don't want to know." He got up from the table. "We'll have to catch up again sometime," he said. "Maybe next time it can be a proper catching-up and not a secret meeting of the committee to get T.J. Lewis permission to go to the past."

"Definitely," Kivrin said. "After the next committee meeting? Scoring committee, I mean, not the committee for T.J. Lewis, which by the way doesn't exist."

"Of course it doesn't," he said. "And it's a date. Good afternoon."

 

Badri was next. They met at Dunworthy's flat, for neither Kivrin nor T.J. were members of Balliol and they were worried they might attract attention by going there too often. Dunworthy even served them dinner—some sort of stir-fry—while Badri looked over the charts T.J. handed him and made comments. "It's definitely possible," he said. "I can't say exactly until I run some unmanneds and see how hard it is to acquire the coordinates, but I don't see any reason why we shouldn't get very close." He looked up from the paper, smiled at them both. "If you can get the permission to go to 1708, I can provide the transport. I think I can promise you that."

 

Kivrin and T.J. divided up the committee members they weren't certain about. Over the term, they found occasion to run into each of them, and casually ask a question, like "By the way, what do you think of the project I've been presenting to the scoring committee?" or "I haven't seen you since the last meeting of the scoring committee! What do you think of Lewis's project? We've heard his presentation so many times, you must have some thoughts!" Some were willing to talk; some weren't. The number of notecards expanded, and so did the number of piles. But it wouldn't last forever—eventually everyone would have to be sorted into "yes", "no", or, if necessary, "maybe".

 

Dunworthy had a former student, Lilian, who had worked part-time in Wardrobe and whom he'd kept in touch with after she'd graduated and moved to London. He didn't say how he arranged it, but one day she showed up out of the blue and started taking T.J.'s and Kivrin's measurements. "You won't tell anyone, will you?" Kivrin asked her. "We're trying not to let people know about our plans."

"Don't worry," Lilian said, "Mr. Dunworthy was very clear on that point. I'll be making these all myself, and I do enough other sewing that nobody will question my buying the materials. They need to appear hand-sewn due to the era but I have a machine that can approximate that for the less visible stitching, and I can do the topstitching by hand in the evenings while I'm watching vids. I'll have them done in plenty of time and nobody the wiser, don't worry." She snapped the tape measure expertly around T.J.'s bicep. "Do you have any preferences on colors? I was thinking brown for the waistcoat. Of course the shirt and underthings will be white."

"Whatever you choose is fine," T.J. said, and Kivrin nodded agreement.

"That's all settled then," she said. "Don't worry about a thing; I know more about eighteenth-century clothing than half the people that lived there."

 

When it came to planning their mission, T.J. was the one who determined where and when it would take place, but Kivrin took the lead on the prep. She started by picking some likely-looking books and had them converted to subliminal headrig tapes. Once she and T.J. had gone through all of those, they set to work on planning their cover identities and preparing for whatever they might encounter in the London of 1708.

"The roads will be cobbled, most likely," she told T.J. "Or dirt. And in some places it may be hard to tell the difference beneath the horse dung. Modes of transport are foot, horseback, or carts and carriages. Also by water, since London is a port city, but that shouldn't affect us, as we'll be walking towards the river but never quite reach it."

"It sounds like it might have some similarities to where you went before, won't it?"

Kivrin nodded. "1708 is actually closer to the present than it is to 1348, but since it's prior to the Industrial Revolution and the takeoff of technology, it will be much more similar to the earlier time."

"And are you going to be okay with that?" he asked.

Kivrin paused this time before answering. "I think so. After all, we aren't going to an era of terrible diseases this time. It will be almost half a century after the last major outbreak of plague in England, and over a century before cholera even reached Europe. I'll be able to tell myself that the people I meet have a much better chance at living out their natural lifespans than anybody I knew before."

"That's good," T.J. said.

She nodded again, more firmly this time. "Yes, it's very good. Now, my cover name will be Katherine King..."

 

With one week to go in the term, the count was at 5 yes, 10 unknown or undecided, and 6 no; but the three most vocal "no"s were confirmed to be traveling. T.J. thought their chances were good. They were certainly the highest they'd been up to that point, but Kivrin didn't think they were good enough to count on.

"Well, if you have any other ideas of how to convince the undecideds, I'd love to hear them," T.J. said. He picked up the pile of "undecided" notecards and riffled through them again.

"Let me see that one," Kivrin said. "No, the one underneath, Gray Roberts. He did his graduate studies in Twentieth Century; he must have worked with Dunworthy. Maybe if we got Dunworthy to talk to him..."

"It's worth a shot," T.J. said, and headed for the telephone.

 

Dunworthy didn't tell them what he had told Roberts, but he told them he had promised to vote yes. That made 6 yesses; still not enough to rest on their laurels, but enough to relax. Kivrin set aside the cards and their plans for a few days; she still had her class to teach and, with the end of the term at hand, a backlog of essays to mark.

 

Most of her students left without a word at the end of her final lecture. Kivrin scarcely noticed; it was what she'd come to expect from them by now. She hoped that they would at least remember what she'd taught them, even if they didn't care about it. The room wasn't empty yet; one student had taken her time putting her notebook away. She stopped at Kivrin's desk on her way to the door. "This has been a really interesting class," she said.

Kivrin blinked, too surprised to answer.

"Will you be teaching anything else next term?" her student continued. "I'd like to take another class from you sometime."

"My plans for next term aren't finalized yet," Kivrin said. "But I'll be around. And I'll be teaching. If not next term, then the term after that." She walked her student to the door and locked up the classroom. She'd said it, now. It wasn't just an idea in her head. She was staying at Oxford.

 

Claridge, Statham, and Eustis, all guaranteed "no" votes, would be overseas between terms attending the Annual Meeting of the Association for Time Travel Technology. So would Anderson and Travers, both unknowns whom Kivrin and T.J. suspected were undecided but hadn't bothered to find out for certain. That made the worst-case scenario 6 yes votes, 3 no votes, and 7 unknowns. Still not good enough.

"Why do they want to stay in town, anyway?" T.J. muttered.

"They must not have anything better to do."

"Well, can we give them anything better to do?"

"Like what?" Kivrin said with a sigh. "Remind their mothers how long it's been since they saw them so that they give them a guilt-tripping phone call?"

"If we thought it would work, then sure. Or maybe we could arrange a job interview or something."

"Why aren't more of the committee members going to the conference, anyway?"

"No idea. Maybe they just weren't interested..." He trailed off as an idea struck him.

Kivrin suspected it was the same one that had just struck her: "...but what if they wanted to go and it was just that finances got in the way? Is there any way we could find out if they expressed interest in the conference at any point?"

"Well, I think my supervisor knows somebody on the conference planning board. He might be able to make discreet inquiries."

"Why don't you see what you can do in that regard," Kivrin said. "If he can't find out, maybe Dunworthy knows somebody."

"Once we find out if they were interested, we just—what, make an anonymous donation?"

"Do you have the money for it?" Kivrin asked. "I doubt it's the sort of thing we can use a grant to pay for."

"Sure, I can find the money, if we think it will work."

"Then let's see if your supervisor can find us a contact. They can tell our targets that they've had additional money for travel grants become available, and they recalled their interest and wanted to offer to cover the costs of their attending the conference. Which would all be true, as it happens."

"It might work," T.J. said. "I'll ask him right away."

 

Roberta Gladwyn was the target they saved until last. She had an office in Merton College, so Kivrin went there on her own; T.J. didn't want to risk being seen anywhere around there.

"You've been helping T.J. Lewis with his project, I think," Gladwyn said in greeting. Kivrin flinched. "Oh, don't worry, it isn't obvious. But I've heard through the grapevine that you're thinking of time traveling again, and I put two and two together. I've seen how much attention you pay to his presentations."

"Maybe I just pay attention to all presentations," Kivrin said. "He's the only person who's presented to the committee the entire time I've been attending."

"Maybe," Gladwyn said with a smile. "So what brings you here? And does it have anything to do with Lewis?"

"Maybe," Kivrin said, smiling in return. "But to begin, how do you feel about his project? If I _were_ working with him, would you have any interest in assisting us?"

"I'm at least intrigued," Gladwyn said. "Not enough to buck Claridge's rules, but I might consider helping outside of that."

"You have the authority to schedule meetings of the committee, don't you?" Kivrin asked.

Gladwyn's eyebrows rose behind her bangs. "I like the way you think. Yes, I can. I don't have to announce the meeting as soon as it's scheduled, but I have to inform committee members a minimum of twenty-four hours in advance."

"Then let's make it twenty-four hours exactly," Kivrin said. "And have the meeting during the Time Travel Tech conference."

"Do you think you'll be able to get a quorum?" Gladwyn asked.

Kivrin grinned again. "We've got it all planned out."

 

Dunworthy held a dinner party the night before the fateful committee meeting. Nobody ate much, but it made for a plausible cover for everyone's presence. Badri and Finch and Lilian were there, as well as Ned Henry and Verity Kindle, two students Kivrin hadn't met but who Dunworthy and T.J. assured her could be trusted.

"I've been running unmanneds for the last week," Badri reported over dinner. "I found a satisfactory drop site in Regent's Park, and more good news—a drop inside St. Paul's. You were right about that screen. Is all the tech set on your end?"

T.J. pulled a silver crown coin from his pocket. "It won't pass muster if I try to spend it, but it should be convincing otherwise. And just in case, it's programmed to fry the insides and melt if anything breaches the interior. I'd rather get in trouble for witchcraft or alchemy than whatever they'd think if they found this amount of wires inside a coin."

"So what does it do?" Ned asked.

"It measures the energy given off by the net, both in quantity and quality," T.J. said. "We can compare the energy readings to readings taken back here in the lab, and use that to learn more about slippage and about what's happening in the metatunnel between the lab and the drop site. That's the short version. I can explain more in detail if you like—"

"No, that's fine," Ned said hastily. "I don't know enough about the science of the net to follow it, anyway. But I'm glad you're learning more about slippage. Does this have anything to do with the sims you were showing me year before last? The different ways Waterloo could have gone, with the soup kettles and all?"

"Tangentially," T.J. said. "I was starting to be frustrated by the sims, and unsure whether they were accurate enough. One of the things these measurements should help us do would be to help the sim program handle slippage even more accurately. It started as a side project, but now it's taken over my life, and I've set the sims aside for the time being. Although I still have my eye on the soup-kettle sim. It has too many similarities to the Coventry Cathedral incongruity to be ignored."

"Let me know what you find out," Ned said. "I have a personal interest in that particular incongruity."

"Now, tell us about your cover identities," Dunworthy said. "I want to be sure you know them well."

"My name is Katherine King," Kivrin said promptly. "My father is an Oxford lawyer, but my mother's family is from London, and if I need to mention why I'm in London, it's because I'm staying with my aunt and helping her with the children."

"My name is John Lewis," T.J. said. "I'm Miss King's father's servant, although we won't correct anyone if they assume I'm a slave. Miss Katherine's father wouldn't dream of his daughter traveling anywhere alone, so he sent me with her."

"I'm the daughter of a gentleman," Kivrin added. "We figured that would be safer than a role of lower rank, and give me a good reason to have a servant."

"And what if you run into pickpockets?" Dunworthy asked.

"Then we run really fast," T.J. said. "It will be the middle of the day, and we'll avoid the thickest crowds. But in the worst case scenario, we can afford to lose the few coins we’re carrying; the modified crown is the only essential, and it will be sewn inside my clothes."

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" Dunworthy asked. "What if you get hurt?"

"We'll be fine," T.J. said. "Frankly, I'm more worried about the vote."

"You're going to have to rush tomorrow," Dunworthy said. "Rushing can lead to mistakes."

"And if we make mistakes, we'll run with them," Kivrin said. "T.J. and I can think on our feet."

"You'll be so far away," he said.

Kivrin patted his hand. "But we're coming right back. Don't worry."

 

This committee meeting felt different than the others had. The attendance was sparser, of course, and Claridge wasn't there to loudly force the proceedings ahead; but more than that, everyone around the table looked familiar. Over the last few weeks, Kivrin had spoken to many of these people, and she thought that even though she didn't agree with all of them, she understood why they thought what they did. She just hoped that she and T.J. weren't completely fooling themselves about their chances, because they certainly wouldn't have any more chances after this one.

T.J. kept his presentation short. He pointed out some of the benefits that could be gained from his research, and some of the reasons that he believed it was safe; but he knew that everyone had heard most of this before, so he didn't elaborate.

"Thank you for that informative presentation," Gladwyn said as T.J. sat down. "Is there anything to discuss before we vote on Mr. Lewis's proposal to rescore the eighteenth century for blacks?" She looked around at the room. Nobody spoke, but neither did they sigh or roll their eyes. "In that case, we'll vote by show of hands. All those in favor?" Six people raised their hands. "Opposed?" Only four remained to raise their hands. They had won. "We will now discuss what the score should be changed to. Mr. Lewis, will you please tell us more about what score you believe the eighteenth century deserves?"

This time there was much more discussion. Finally, the scoring committee was doing what they'd all thought they were signing up for: determining safety rankings from the evidence. And T.J. had plenty of evidence. Kivrin threw herself into the argument—well, the loud, high-spirited discussion—with energy. She knew they'd won; every moment of disagreement over the exact non-ten score T.J.'s destination deserved was more evidence of that. Across the table, T.J. was smiling as well.

 

As soon as the meeting adjourned, Constantin Rose jumped to his feet and stormed out of the room. "He has the look of a man headed for a telephone," John murmured from his usual seat next to Kivrin.

"I'd better be going," Kivrin replied, sweeping papers off the table into her bag. She headed for the door, T.J. hot on her heels.

"Do you think Rose can cause us any trouble?" T.J. asked her, taking the steps two at a time.

"We won't give him enough time to," Kivrin said. "You and I, we're too good at what we do to lose now."

"I totally agree," T.J. said. "Run faster!"

 

Lilian was waiting at the door to the lab. Ned and Verity were there too, to help them change costumes as quickly as possible.

"What would you have done if they'd realized you were wearing eighteenth-century underwear at the meeting?" Lilian asked. She attacked Kivrin's hair with a handful of pins while Ned shoved a shirt over T.J.'s head.

"Considering how little the topic of underwear has to do with the topics that committee covers, I wasn't even worried about the possibility," T.J. said.

"Though I'm sure Claridge would have raised the topic if he'd thought he could gain anything by it," Kivrin said. "He never worried about playing fair."

"Then it's good that we aren't, either," Verity said. "T.J., lift your foot up. No, farther. Okay, hold it there."

Badri spun his chair around so he was facing them instead of the console. "None of the unmanneds are showing more than ten minutes of slippage," he reported.

"Good—oh, sorry!" T.J. said, hopping on one foot to avoid stepping on Verity's hand again. "Do we have time to check the sync on the travelcomp?"

"Other foot, and watch it."

"Sure, hand it over," Badri said.

T.J. didn't move, still standing on the one foot, and raised his eyebrows. "Any chance you could come fetch it?"

"Oh, right."

"Didn't you check the sync twice last night?" Kivrin asked.

"Yes, but it could have been knocked against something in the last twelve hours," Badri said.

"And if we've lost the sync, the entire expedition could be worthless," T.J. added.

"Not to worry, it's still synced," Badri said, returning the coin. T.J. slipped it inside the hem of his waistcoat, and Verity hurried to whipstitch the lining closed. "You're clear for departure as soon as you're dressed. Lilian?"

Lilian shoved two more pins against Kivrin's scalp. "All ready here. Good luck!"

"I'll run both drops as ten-minute intermittents," Badri said. "You can always come back to Regent's Park if something goes wrong at St. Paul's."

T.J. took Kivrin's hand, pulling her into the center of the net. Around them, the veils dropped slowly down until they were surrounded.

"Ready?" she whispered.

"I've never been so excited in my entire life," he whispered back. He dropped her hand; their cover stories didn't allow for them to be too close. "Thanks for your support."

"Thanks for your friendship," Kivrin replied—and the drop opened.


End file.
